Under The Desert Moon (Desert Sky Series Book 2)

by Mary Tate Engels

  "You're the transitory type. One day, out of the blue, you come back here, not really liking it, but promising to hang around a while. You grab a quick kiss and maybe more. Then, someday soon you'll get tired of us, say we're boring and announce you're leaving for high adventure somewhere else. I don't want that in a relationship."

  He wanted her, but not at the risk of lying. He couldn't do that to Annie. He turned away, bracing his hands on the door facing, looking out at the shadowed apple trees and purple mountains beyond her farm. "You may be right, Annie. I can't promise anything long term right now. I'm just trying to put the pieces together after nearly losing my life. And losing a friend, a partner, and the best damn FBI agent on the force in the same battle. Maybe Silver Creek is in my future. Maybe not. I need time." His voice grew low and gravelly. "Time to sort through why my partner died on that backstreet in Miami and I didn't."

  Annie reached out and touched his back. "Oh Brett. How awful. I didn't know. I'm so sorry."

  He turned and they fell into an embrace. Hugging, holding, breathing together for a long time. It was more cathartic than he ever imagined, just to have someone to hold who understood or cared. Or pretended to care.

  "Don't go searching for answers where there are none, Brett."

  "I know there are no easy answers to the hard questions of life. Hours of counseling taught me that."

  Finally he lifted his head and tipped her face up for a small kiss. "Thank you, Annie, for being here." When she didn't respond, he asked, "So you've found your niche here in Silver Creek? This is it?"

  To Annie, his query seemed to have a deeper significance, so she gave him more than a superficial answer. "I'm creating the kind of life I want here on the farm and in Silver Creek. I like what I'm doing. I've put a lot of work into this town. I fit in. And I like—this sounds silly—but I like me. Now. I didn't when I got here. Divorced. Quit my good job in finance. My only family, aunt and uncle, were dying. I was not in a good place."

  "I like you, Annie. Just the way you are. Honest." He studied her for a moment. "I can't promise much at this point. But one thing I know. We need each other. Right now." Hesitantly he lowered his head for another sweet, sensitive kiss. Their lips matched and meshed, warmly transmitting unwarranted feelings and emotions.

  Reluctantly Brett withdrew from her. He felt tightness in his entire body. She was a powerful force, pulling on him like a magnet, and he wanted to stay close to her. He yearned for more than she was willing to give at this point, and he couldn't trust himself not to take it. Stiffly he moved to the door and grabbed his coat from the rack.

  Annie watched him with sultry eyes. "Where are you going?"

  "If I stay any longer, we both may regret it." He gazed at her solemnly. "And I don't want any regrets between us, Annie. None. I'll be back..."

  "Tomorrow?" It was a spontaneous question.

  "Well, I had planned to tackle the weeds before they take over my ranch. If you'd like, I'll be glad to drive the tractor over here and work on your weeds, too. Or whatever you need."

  "I... sure." She nodded jerkily. "That sounds great."

  He reached for the door.

  "Brett?"

  "Yeah?"

  "Thanks for coming over. And for not asking the compromising questions. I needed company tonight. And I enjoyed yours very much."

  "It seemed the neighborly thing to do." He smiled rakishly. "And the only way to spend a little more time with you, Annie. Whether you believe it or not, that's all I wanted tonight."

  "Wanted? Or expected?"

  He shrugged. "What do you want, Annie?"

  Annie opened her mouth to speak, then decided against whatever was on her mind. "Maybe we do need each other, Brett Meyer. See you tomorrow?"

  "I'll try to make it before noon." With a quick nod, he was gone.

  Annie watched his car lights disappear, thinking it curious that he aggravated her and excited her at the same time. Maybe the one she didn't trust here was herself, not Brett. She could admit privately that she was wildly attracted to the man. Maybe she was just attracted to men on the move, men who were great risks to her heart. Like her ex-husband, who declared he would die if he had to stay in Arizona another year. When her aunt and uncle became ill, and it looked like she would need to become their caretakers, he had gotten a good job in San Diego. He drafted their divorce papers, being very generous to her, giving her more than half of everything they had accumulated in their four year marriage. She couldn't complain. Except she was out of a husband. And soured on love.

  But look at her record. In college, there was Matt, who took a job in Boston. Their breakup was mutual, but it left her lonely for a long time. And then, Dan. One day he announced he was moving to Denver. Annie was not invited.

  And now, what about Brett? She hugged her arms, remembering the multitude of feelings she experienced when his lips met hers. She found him far too attractive. Far too alluring. Far too much of a man to resist. And she was vulnerable to his dark eyes and inviting lips.

  BRETT drove the car slowly. He couldn't forget the way Annie looked when he touched her, the way her skin felt next to his, the warmth of her receptive lips. And he wanted more. Much more. He wondered if he had the guts to do whatever was necessary to have her. It might even mean lying to her.

  Before he had an answer, he pulled into the driveway and found J.M. waiting for him. Sexy thoughts of Annie had to be shoved aside.

  The two men greeted each other warmly with a combination handshake and half hug. "In the neighborhood, J.M.?" Brett asked, calling his father by his first name as he had since he was a kid.

  "Sort of." J.M. grinned. "You visiting the neighbors?"

  "I'm just a neighborly kind of guy," Brett said with a grin, refusing to answer directly. He ambled to the refrigerator. "Want a beer?"

  "Have you got a soda? It wouldn't do for the sheriff to be caught with alcohol on his breath."

  "Never thought I'd see you refuse a beer." Brett grabbed a cola for J.M. and a beer for himself. "Times have changed."

  "Yep." J.M. popped the top of the canned drink and lifted it toward Brett in a little toast. "This is what responsibility does for you."

  "You make a good lawman," Brett said, returning the gesture. "Maybe it's what you should have done all along."

  "You mean instead of struggling and failing at ranching all those years?" J.M. shrugged. "Maybe you're right, son. Hindsight is always best. I did it for—" He halted abruptly.

  Brett picked up the trail of words. "I know. You did it for Mama."

  J.M. nodded silently. After a moment, he asked, "How's Annie doing?"

  "Pretty good. She didn't lose many blossoms in the freeze." Brett ambled into the front bedroom and motioned for his dad to follow him. "I don't think it'll hurt her crop much this year."

  J.M. halted in the middle of the familiar room. It had been Brett's. Even after all these years, it still looked like a boy's room. "You could use the back bedroom, you know."

  "Yours and Mama's room?" Brett asked sharply as he sat on the edge of the single bed and removed his boots.

  "Room's bigger." J.M. shrugged. "And the bed's better."

  "No, thanks." Brett pulled off his socks. "My old room's fine."

  "Lots of memories here." J.M. leaned on the door frame, his gaze circling the walls and ceiling. "This whole place reminds me—" His voice halted.

  "Of Mama?" Brett sighed heavily. "Me, too."

  "Do you... uh, mind staying here? Or would you prefer a place in town? I'm sure I can find you something."

  "No, Dad. This is fine." Brett peeled off his sweater and began to unbutton his shirt. He let it hang open casually in the front. "This is home."

  "And I'm glad to have you back here, son."

  "I'm going to fix this place up, J.M. You'll be surprised next time you come."

  "You don't have to do anything out here, Brett."

  "I know. But if I'm going to live in it, I want it in better shape than this." He
laughed and gestured at the dirty walls and torn curtains. "I'm not a complete slob."

  J.M.'s gaze went to his son's chest, visible beneath the open shirt. The long thin surgeon's scar was blurred at one end by the spot that marked the gunshot wound. J.M. took a sharp breath and turned away from the painful sight.

  Brett followed him into the living room. "What's wrong?" He ran his hand lightly over the scars. "Hell, don't let a little flesh wound bother you. It's all healed now."

  "I've seen a lot in my life," J.M. said, turning back with a sheepish grin. "Especially in the past few years as sheriff. But it's different when you see your own flesh 'n' blood torn up like that."

  "Hey, it's not so bad now. I'm okay."

  "You need to take it easy, Brett. You haven't stopped to rest since you got here."

  "Now you sound like Mama." He paused to take a swig of beer. "Besides, there's lots to do here and at Annie's farm. I like to stay busy. Keeps me from thinking too much. Is this why you came all the way out here tonight? To tell me to take it easy?"

  J.M. nodded and chuckled. "Take everything slowly, Brett. That includes Annie."

  "Are you giving me advice on how to handle women?"

  "Hell, no! I just figure if you've got any common sense in your head, you'll see what a great gal she is. And she's too damn pretty for her own good."

  "Thanks for pointing that out." Brett spread his legs and leaned his elbows on his knees.

  J.M. ambled around the room. "The real reason I came out is to tell you that we don't need you to start on your projects with the department right away. Take your time, as much as you need."

  "Thanks. I can't help wondering if you need me at all."

  J.M. gave his son a quick response. "Oh, hell, yes, we need you. Or someone with your expertise. How often does an FBI agent make himself available to a small county sheriff's department? We want to take advantage of your skills while you're here, Brett. It's just that we need a little time for the funds to come through for your salary. I figured you could use a little time, too."

  "Sure. That'll give me a chance to do some things around here. And to help Annie a little. Actually, dad, I have disability money coming in for a while, so that's not an issue."

  "Yeah. Do that. Help Annie. She needs a man. What I mean is, she needs a man's strength. That girl's been doing the job of two or three since she took over the farm from old Martin. And it was a mess when she took over. I wasn't sure she could save those trees."

  Brett smiled at his dad's reference to Annie's needs. He couldn't agree more. With a wide yawn, he leaned back in the old stuffed chair. "Want to spend the night here with me, Dad?"

  "No! No, thanks. I've gotta get back to town. Just stopped by to chat." J.M. set his empty soda can on a table.

  "What's wrong? Too many ghosts around here for you?"

  "I guess so. Especially at night." He adjusted his large white cowboy hat on his graying crown. "You take care, now. And I'll see you in a couple of weeks. I don't expect you to report for work before that. In fact, I'll let you know."

  "Okay," Brett agreed, standing to hug his father.

  "Get some rest, son."

  "Yes sir."

  Brett watched J.M.'s truck lights disappear in the darkness, then he cut the house lights, stripped off his clothes and heaved himself tiredly into bed. So the real truth was coming out. This house held too many memories of the past for J.M. to spend much time here.

  As he relaxed, Brett ran his hand automatically over his chest and down to stroke the scar. He smiled in the darkness, remembering J.M.'s reaction to the sight of it. He was a tough man, reluctant to show his feelings. But tonight Brett had seen signs of the affection J.M. held for his son and for his departed wife. Brett remembered his teen years, spent in this very room, when he wondered if his old man loved anyone.

  Those were hard years for everyone. Brett was growing up and struggling for his place in the scheme of things. J.M. was struggling financially to support his family on the ranch. Finally he had taken a job at the copper mine. When it closed, J.M. had sought the county sheriff's position.

  Now Brett understood that J.M. really did love him and his mother very much. He just had trouble showing it. Sometimes, being macho got in the way.

  Brett didn't linger long on the past. As he drifted off to sleep, his subconscious wandered to a certain spunky neighbor with hair like honey and chocolate eyes and the sweetest kiss this side of heaven. And he wanted her again. More than ever.

  For the next week, Brett divided his work between Annie's farm and his ranch, giving her the lion's share of his energy. She didn't quite understand why, but she wasn't about to question his motives. She only knew that she needed extra hands and that Brett worked diligently, often from early morning until sunset. At dusk, he left. There were no more boxed suppers and no pressures for her to respond to his presence.

  By keeping him busy in the fields, it was easier for Annie to hide her unwanted guests. It also gave her the opportunity to prepare the kinds of foods Dr. Theresa had recommended for Isabel.

  Annie developed a routine of bringing Brett's lunch. Often she ate with him. It was a way of keeping him away from the house and possibly discovering her illegal guests. But, she realized, it was a time when they could be alone, and she enjoyed that very much.

  In a way, she was a little disappointed by his curtailed pursuit. Being pursued by the likes of Brett Meyer might have been fun. On the other hand she was angry at herself for even feeling that way. She knew that he was only responding to her tough-sounding speech about him breezing into her life, thinking he could land in her bed. Right now, that didn't sound too bad. And yet, she knew that she didn't want another fleeting love affair.

  Annie pulled the 4-Runner to a stop and watched Brett as he drove the tractor and disk expertly between the Red Delicious rows. He had removed his shirt in the midday heat and tied it around his waist, leaving his bare chest and muscular back exposed for her admiration. When he completed the row and headed back toward her, she beeped the horn and waved to him.

  Brett lifted his arm and indicated that he would join her when he got to the end of the row. Annie grabbed the small cooler containing their lunch and headed for the shade of one of the older cottonwood trees.

  She waited and watched as Brett finished the row, then stopped the tractor. With surprising agility he hopped to the ground, his shirt flapping about his lean hips. He walked around the tractor to get a drink from the large water cooler riding on the other side of the cab.

  She had a full view of him, and her gaze dropped to his rib cage in search of the scar. He hefted the cooler and turned it up, letting the water spill into his mouth and run down his neck and chest. Captivated by the erotic sight, Annie could almost see the steam rising from his heated body.

  By the time he reached her, Brett had donned his shirt and partially buttoned it. He was the most sexy and ruggedly handsome man she had seen in a long time, and she made no effort to hide her admiration.

  "What's wrong?" he challenged when he was close enough to notice. "My fly unzipped?"

  She flushed. That wasn't supposed to embarrass her. But it did. "Can't I admire a good-looking man?"

  It was his turn to be embarrassed. She could swear his face darkened as he started digging into the lunch cooler for food. "Damn good thing I like apples," he drawled with a teasing glance her way. He pulled out a ham and cheese sandwich and an apple. "Who taught you to cook, anyway?"

  "That's the great thing about apples," she countered. "You don't have to cook them in order to enjoy them."

  "Then you're in luck. Real men eat them raw. No apple cake needed."

  "Hey, nobody's complained about my cooking before." She bit into a tomato and cheese sandwich on rye.

  "And rightfully so. The posole you made was fantastic."

  "Glad you liked it."

  He opened another sandwich bag and pulled out a thick slice of her famous apple bread. Taking a bite, he mumbled, "Mmm, this i
s more like it. Now, this is great stuff. What's in it?"

  "Mostly apples." She laughed. "It's an old family recipe," she added with a sniff. "I sell the bread at our Silver Creek Market once a month."

  "Make any money at that?"

  She shrugged. "Grocery money. We've formed a co-op. We're hoping it'll catch on and get bigger. Attract folks from Tucson and small towns around here that want our produce. Last year was tough, but this year, I can see red and golden delicious profits growing on the trees."

  "I almost didn't make it last year, either," he said.

  Annie placed her hand on his arm. "It pains me to know what you've been through, Brett. But I'm glad you're here. You're the best, Brett. A hero is rare in these parts."

  "You know how I feel about this hero stuff."

  "Tell me."

  Suddenly he turned serious. "Is my partner any less a hero because he died in the same battle that gave me this nebulous status?"

  "Of course not. He's a great hero, deserving the ultimate respect." She was a little startled at his angry question. But she remembered her own crazy emotions, spiking from high admiration to low anger during the time when she was grieving for her beloved aunt and uncle. "When my aunt and uncle died, I felt everything from honor that they were so good to me to anger that they left me with this mess of an apple farm. Neither are completely rational. Are you feeling guilty, Brett?"

  "Maybe." He turned away from her. The day had been too perfect. He enjoyed being with Annie too much. He liked working for her, seeing the results of his labor, seeing her face light up with pleasure.

  Tilling the soil today, turning over weeds, getting back to the earth had made him feel good. Too good. The midday sun felt warm and seductive on his body. And relaxing. They were sensuous pleasures his partner would never enjoy again.